


We're Gonna Run This Town Tonight

by Shiny_n_new



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Mob, M/M, Organized Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 12:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3569477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiny_n_new/pseuds/Shiny_n_new
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a quest to reclaim his home and murder the bastard who took it, Thorin runs afoul of Thranduil, the Durin family's old ally-turned-enemy. The negotiations are not productive.</p><p>(The throne room scene re-imagined as a mobster AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Gonna Run This Town Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a Tumblr prompt. I think it might be fun to do more in the 'verse, if there's any interest in it.

“It’s been a long time since you’ve come all the way out to the east side, Thorin.” Thranduil was lounging back in his in his ridiculous supervillain leather chair, one leg thrown over the arm as if he couldn’t even be bothered to stop slouching. “I had begun to think you’d forgotten we were over here.”

“There are better red light districts to catch herpes in,” Thorin sneered.

Thranduil laughed, the sound not particularly nice. “Somehow, I don’t think you’re here for the companionship.”

“None of your fucking business why I’m here, blondie,” Thorin growled. “Tell your androgynous little thugs to let my friends go and we can forget this ever happened. No harm, no foul.”

“Uh-huh.” Thranduil rose from his chair in one easy, fluid movement and Thorin had to stop himself from curling his hands into fists. He knew what was coming; Thranduil had always been shit at personal space. “I think this is the part where I remind you that you aren’t in a position to be making demands. Of anyone, really, but especially of me.”

“If we were standing in my office in the Blue District, you’d be singing a different tune.” Thorin refused to play Thranduil’s game, instead staring straight out the window in front of him even as Thranduil drew close. In the dimming afternoon sunlight, he could see the grounds of Greenwood, the park that Thranduil’s neighborhood took its name from. It had been beautiful, once; he could remember walking the gardens as a kid while his grandpa and Thranduil talked business. But now it was overgrown and wild, full of violent, hollow-eyed junkies strung out on whatever was being cooked in the old Dol Guldur factory.

“But we aren’t in the Blue, are we?” Thranduil asked from behind Thorin. “And why is that? Why come all the way out here armed like you’re going to war even though there’s only thirteen of you?”

Thranduil circled him like a predator, so close that their shoulders brushed. His bare feet dug into the rich green carpet as he moved. Thorin entertained the idea of bringing his boot down on one of those feet and grinding until he heard bone pop. But no, no, he was so close to Erebor. He could talk his way out of this. Once they were off Thranduil’s turf, the old bastard was mostly harmless.

“Like I said, none of your business.”

“Oh, I think it is.” Thranduil leaned in over Thorin’s shoulder. “I think you’re headed home. Some people might think you’re off to murder the Dragon in his bed, to risk death in a blaze of glory and all that other Hollywood crap.”

Thorin bit down on his tongue. If he’d had his way, that’s exactly what he’d be doing. But Dain didn’t want to risk it. No one wanted to, not when the Dragon had torn through all of Erebor’s men like they were highly flammable tissue. Just because Smaug had kept a low profile since he’d claimed the Durin family’s ancestral neighborhood, didn’t mean he was gone. The occasional burnt body that turned up in the river was proof enough of that.

“But me, I think you’re trying stealth for once,” Thranduil continued, his breath tickling the side of Thorin’s face. “I think you’ve found a way to sneak in under the Dragon’s nose and grab the Arkenstone out from underneath him.”

For a wild, terrified moment, Thorin wondered if he’d been betrayed. Maybe this had all been a long con, something arranged between Gandalf and Thranduil for God knew what purpose. Gandalf had been the one to suggest a thief rather than an army, after all, and Gandalf’s motives were as clear as mud. All of Thranduil’s distant relatives trusted Gandalf, and that was reason enough to be wary of him. Maybe the plan all along had been to send Thorin to die in Greenwood and move in on Erebor once he was gone.

But no, that didn’t quite make sense. As shifty as Gandalf was (extraordinarily so), he seemed to genuinely want Smaug dead. Killing Thorin wouldn’t solve that problem at all. And Thranduil hadn’t cared about anything outside of his precious little neighborhood since before Thorin was born. He wasn’t working with Gandalf; it had been a good guess, nothing more.

(Sometimes, in the quiet moments when he wasn’t planning strategy with Dwalin or surreptitiously watching Bilbo, Thorin worried about the paranoia that was never far from his thoughts. It was getting worse, so much worse.)

“But you’re in luck,” Thranduil said, finishing his circle and ending up in front of Thorin. He leaned against his desk, long legs crossed in front of him, and grinned in a way that could have been friendly if it didn’t have so many hard edges behind it. “There are things stored away in your grandfather’s vault that I want, too. White gems, bright as starlight.”

Thorin realized abruptly what he was talking about. He’d been just a kid when Thranduil had come to his grandfather with a project. Underneath all the mob business, Thror had been the best jeweler in the city. Thranduil had brought a necklace, all diamonds and white gold that caught the light like frozen fire. The repairs he’d needed were simple but delicate. He must have figured that since their families had been on decent terms for decades, it was worth the risk.

But Thror had kept it instead and Thranduil had never seen the necklace again. As far as Thorin knew, it was still sitting somewhere in the vaults under their mansion, gathering dust along with a thousand other priceless treasures. He’d all but forgotten it.

Thranduil had not. “It belongs to me, always has. So I’ll make you a deal, man who would be king. I’ll let you go. Hell, I’ll even help you. All I want is what’s mine.”

It was a good deal. Balin would have taken it, for sure. But all Thorin could see was Thranduil ordering his own men back as Erebor burned, watching from safety while whole blocks of houses and shops and livelihoods collapsed into ash. He remembered being seventeen and on his knees in front of Thranduil, offering to suck his cock and clean his fucking house if only he’d loan Thorin’s family the money they’d desperately needed. There was no scrubbing that humiliation out of his mind, and the fact that Thranduil had said no didn’t make it any better.

Thorin crossed his arms and turned away, trying to pull his temper under control. “A favor for a favor?”

“You’ve got my word,” Thranduil said, nodding at Thorin. “One family to another.”

And that was Thorin’s snapping point. Voice raised so that everyone in the hallway and probably the entire floor could hear him, Thorin snarled, “I wouldn’t trust you to honor your _word_ if the fucking Apocalypse was coming down on us! You saw Erebor burning to the ground and you stood back and _watched!_ When we were homeless and starving and had lost everything, you spat in our faces! Go to hell, you motherfucking-”

Thranduil darted forward with frightening speed, his fist connecting with Thorin’s sternum hard enough to knock him backwards into the chairs behind them. He had no chance to catch his breath or even process what had happened, because Thranduil was looming over him with a wild, furious look in his eyes. His arms caged Thorin in and forced him back against the chair.

“Don’t talk to me about losing everything!” Thranduil hissed, lips drawn back to bare his teeth. This close, Thorin could see the faint spiderweb of scars that crisscrossed one whole side of Thranduil’s face. “Smaug might be the last Dragon, but he wasn’t the first. I know what happens to the people who cross him.”

Thranduil pulled back suddenly, shoulders stiff. With a disdainful sniff, he said, “I warned your grandfather not to provoke him. But the old man was already half-crazy. I see the same look in your eyes, Thorin. I think you’re going to end up just like him.”

Something nervous and frightened inside of him that Thorin took care never to look at quailed at those words. Rage drove him forward, hands reaching for Thranduil’s long, pale throat. But Thranduil never even blinked, and Thorin was grabbed suddenly and violently by Thranduil’s bodyguards. They dragged him out of the room kicking and fighting to no avail. 

Leaning against his desk, Thranduil watched it all with a smirk. “We’ll see if you’re still so disagreeable after you spend a month in the basement. I’ve got nothing but time on my hands, Thorin. I’m patient. I can wait.”


End file.
